Friday, November 26, 2010

I dreamed last night of Windy BayWhen we were there one April dayThe sunlight bleaching out your curlsA different sun, a different worldThe ocean seemed to call your nameOn every rock where water cameThe breaking brine would crash and hissWe shared a wet and salty kissOur blanket wrapped around us bothHeld our bodies warm and closeWe sipped coffee by the fireAnd watched the morning star retireLet’s go tomorrow or todayBack to our love on Windy Bay

Sunday, November 21, 2010

So long ago I remember whenThe smell of sunshine on her skinDrove me mad; intoxicatingAny plan we had of waitingDamp and tangled auburn curlsBrushed away the worried worldThe rise and fall of eager hipsSea salt kisses; tender lipsSmooth brown skin drenched in sweatForbidden sins with no regretSuch, the reckless ways of youthMemories enhance the truthAs summer did those many timesSundresses hid bikini linesDinner at her parent’s houseSilent as proverbial mouseTried to be cool but wasn’t ableShe winked at me across the tableTo be excused I had to begHer bare foot rubbed against my legSitting there between mom and dadHow bold the love my lover had!Still I love to remember thenThe smell of sunshine on her skin

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Those long distances; whether years or miles; tears or smiles, that separate what we feel from what we think; that urge us to drown the real in drink or find some new nepenthe in the amnesia of pills; the dark and lengthy painkilling process that kills the infection; the affection, by draining the abscess or the excess of our hearts or parts of our minds that refuse to let go is in and of itself; painfully slow. The only solace to our sorrow is in remembering what has not been...and hoping… looking forward to tomorrow. The distance can be crossed and all is not lost unless we choose to lose it and would we choose it thus if our pain; our joy, our lust were just as much a part of us as our clear logic instead of magic? How tragic! We can’t hold on to youth or truth or beauty because of responsibility to duty but shall we be just as cynical; cold and clinical, in our amputations of relations that once meant something to us? So it costs a few more cents to call; we should have the good sense to make the effort after all. And in those suffering pauses of silent instances we can learn to shorten by practice those long distances. Perhaps we can’t hold on to youth or find any universal truth; beauty fades like plans we’ve made; the best laid schemes of mice and men have failed and flailed; drowning while jumping from a sinking ship; struggling to swim to the distant shores of heaven. How will we cross the vast and infamous chasm from earth below to heaven above? There is no bridge but one. Poets and philosophers have agreed in need to call it love.

Monday, November 15, 2010

The magician has the lady floating on airHe’s always so careful to mentionThere are no strings attachedThe audience sits transfixedHer friends and relatives unawareThe assistant is in dangerThe lady seems too stiff to be relaxedHe puts her through the hoopsBut never puts a ring around her fingerShe’s hypnotized by this illusionFor a moment she’s the star of the showHis tricks are only slight of heartAnd perhaps too late she’ll come to knowWhen he disappears like the rabbit in his hatFor now, he puts his cape around her shoulderThey bow together to approval and applauseBut there’s no real magic hereIt’s all done with smoke and mirrorsOnce revealed, the audience feelsSlightly foolish for believingAnything they saw

Friday, September 17, 2010

The sun scraped his knee on the playground of heavenBleeding freely across a turquoise eggshell of skyAnd though he is a big brave boy, a few tears of rain were shedBut he’s sure to return in the morning, warm and bright

The August moon came following, as baby sisters always doWith a glow of admiration on her faceChasing the tears of the sun across a vault of midnight blue,Wrapped in a veil of tattered yellow lace

The twinkling stars sang nursery rhymes in silver shades of silkTheir chorus number; grains of sparkling sandSkimming stones across the sky through puddles made of milkAnd winking at the foolishness of man

Saturday, July 24, 2010

You and me have been a little out of tuneWhen I got drunk I couldn’t blame it all on youBut there are strings to this relationshipAnd you’re going to have to play the blues sometimesIf you want to keep hanging like this

My six string friend, you’ve always seen me throughNo matter what women or the smoke and the whiskey doYou’ve never made an enemy but made me quite a few friendsAnd I’ve begun to feel that you’re the only oneThat I can trust when it all depends

You remember that girl we met up in BuffaloI wanted to stay but you wanted to play and goSo I left her behind and I can see her crying that nightBut I wouldn’t trade you for her, old friendSo I guess it all worked out alright

Lost in my luggage on an airplane to New OrleansYou were busted in customs with a bag of something greenI claimed you even though jail is what it meantAnd convinced the judge that taking youWas too cruel of a punishment

My six string friend, you’ve always seen me throughNo matter what women or the smoke and the whiskey doYou’ve never made an enemy but made me quite a few friendsAnd I’ve begun to feel that you’re the only oneThat I can trust when it all depends

Times I feel like we’re never going to get to restBut before I die I’m going to write a last requestThat they bury you along with me and my songsAnd when we get to the pearly gates why we’llJust get them all to sing along

My six string friend, you’ve always seen me throughNo matter what women or the smoke and the whiskey doYou’ve never made an enemy but made me quite a few friendsAnd I’ve begun to feel that you’re the only oneThat I can trust when it all depends

Thursday, July 22, 2010

I do not have a heart of goldI grow weary as I grow oldThe young will never understandThe loneliness I speak ofWhen I was young I dreamedSome alchemist would comeAlong and turn this leadInside my chestInto something preciousBut the art of alchemy is deadThe sorcerers are fresh outOf new apprenticesThe last wizard died in OzI can not pull the swordFrom the stone that is my heartAnd I am still aloneArthur had MerlinBut what good did it do himWhen Guinevere loved LancelotMagic healed not His broken heartHeavy is the burden beneath my ribsThey are a cage of iron bars;A prison for a thing of worthlessnessHow the pulsing throbbing acheKeeps my spirit wide awakeSo I can no longer dreamThough lead melts lowThe blood runs coldFrom ancient bergs and winter snowAnd I am trudging without snowshoesMountainous terrain;The mounting pain of abusePerhaps if I only had a staffTo lean uponThen I could laughIn the grim face of adversityWhen the reaper broughtThe hearse for meI know in my mind my time is shortDo not trouble me with sympathyOr words of pretended empathyCan you know my sorrowAnd hope yet for tomorrow?Will you become a martyr to my cause?Yellow riches run in veinsThroughout the cavesWithin the mountainsBut I am no miner with pick and shovel;More gypsy wanderer than loverI walk alone the drifting snowLike pilgrims on KilimanjaroI wonder at the many deadFrom bursting heartsAnd aching headsAnd I wonder what you would doTo reach the summit of UhuruI can no longer make the trekI rest rather than break my neckThough illustrious are stories told;I do not have a heart of goldThis leaden thing inside my chestNeed die before it can find restAs of yet it knows regretIt cannot find one alchemistTo turn its worthlessness to goldAnd I grow weary as I grow old

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Author's Note: I could hear the voice of Bob Dylan singing this as I wrote it.

Kick the stones that have no hope.They’re little more than hardened dirt.A noose is but a piece of rope.Kick the chair and end the hurt.

Bullets, blades and bastards too;Cold hearted sons of bitchesWant the very last of youDead and lying in the ditches.

Blood is just a sacrifice.Bones are little more than stones.Blood can turn as cold as iceWhen a body’s left alone.

You think you know somebody well.It turns out you were wrong.A man can burn in his own hellLong before his life is gone

And I know all these thingsBy my brother’s sufferingI know all this truthFor I learned it in my youthAnd I’ve met the angel of destructionI have hoped and dreamed in vainDriven my poor heart insaneIt’s not like me to complainAbout corruption

Churches, schools and governmentsThey’re full of higher learningThey’re full of tyrants and hypocritesThe world just keeps on turning

Send your children off to warSend them off to collegeDon’t know what they’re fighting forTheir minds are void of knowledge

Their blood is just a sacrificeAppease your higher powersBut do not take a friend’s adviceIf he’s not one of ours

And I know all these thingsBy my brother’s sufferingI know all this truthFor I learned it in my youthAnd I’ve met the angel of destructionI have hoped and dreamed in vainDriven my poor heart insaneBut it’s not for me to complainAbout corruption

Oh, the poor and weak are gatheredBy the strong and wealthy handsTo their footstools they are tetheredCannon fodder for this land

Look around you, you may seeProphet there a walking on the waterBefore they point your gun at meThey’re aiming at your every son and daughter

I leave you to your hangman’s nooseStretch your neck and close your eyes in sorrowI’m giving up for its no useYou won’t do a thing to change tomorrow

So kick the bones that have no hopeThey’re little more than skeletonsTheir hands are tied with careful ropeBy all the cruel and jealous ones

And I know all these thingsBy my brother’s sufferingI know all this truthFor I learned it in my youthAnd I’ve met the angel of destructionI have hoped and dreamed in vainDriven my poor heart insaneIt’s not like me to complainAbout corruption

Sunday, June 6, 2010

She peeked between the fingers of cloudsand scattered gold dust through the shadows;whispered words to the warm wind andwrapped her shawl around her shoulders.Morning glories climbing the garden fencetrailed love letters in heart shaped leaves.They never speak to her or sing their songbut trumpet their colors to the dawn believingshe’s still there but her light has gone.The veiled brides of June are soon to wed;trellised arches of flowers for their vows;pillows of lover’s lace upon their bedsand wreaths of expectation on their brows.They shed their innocence like moonlight;soft as whispered promises of love.When the morning comes, will they be wise?The moon will not be shining from above.

In a deserted empty houseThe middle of the nightFootsteps in an adjacent roomAs I turn on the lightNo one there, I lay awakeAll night listeningFor creaking floorboardsBumping furnitureThe footsteps come no more

Walking home on darkened streetsA foggy mist of rainFootsteps soft on forest leavesBreaking twigs inside my brainI spin around in misty halosBats flit by the streetlampNothing there, I walk againListening in the damp

Again, again, the hairs on endAll along my spineAnd down both arms, a shiver runsFootsteps keeping timeAcross the roof under the moonThe dog whines on his chainThe click of patent leather shoesImpossible to explain

What sort of creature silentlyWalks rooftops late at nightBut disappears in mockeryWhen I turn on the lightsOutside my bedroom windowJust before the dawnI wake to sounds of breathingI know I’m not alone

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

I miss the creak of leather under meI miss the saguaro on the SonoranI miss that goddamned half-breed quarter horseSon of a bitch was more mustang than anythingNow my Winchester just sits in the corner gathering dust

I miss old Talking CrowFirst by God blue-eyed Apache I ever seenClaimed he was full blooded ChiricahuaBut I always thought there was some white bloodHe was mean on his whiskey so I never pressed the matter

I miss pulling off my boot and thinkingThat the rest of my leg was going to come with itMy hind end never did bother me muchBut by God my thighs ached enough to make up for itI miss drinking coffee that still had grounds in it

I miss sleeping out in the open under the starsI miss damn near freezing when it got nippish outI miss having a saddle for a pillowAnd borrowing Choctaw’s blanket to go over mineHe didn’t need it without his saddle no way

I miss eating beans and beefsteak for breakfastAnd the fried tortillas Jose’ used to makeI miss spending the spring out on the great divideGetting the herd all fattened up for marketAnd I miss the feel of my Colt strapped to my hip

I miss spending a month’s pay getting drunk and laidHalf the time ending up in a fight or a poker gameI look at the scars in the mirror and I have to smileDamn them sure was some fine timesBut it’s all gone now, like me pretty soon I reckon

They got a newfangled thing called a “horseless carriage”Damn stinking, noisy, rattling, bone shaking contraptionOne drove through a puddle and splashed mud on my bootsIf I’d have had my pistol I’d have shot itHell, so much is gone that ain’t ever coming back

Granddaddy used to talk about the buffalo like thatHe remembered they was all day crossing the prairieA man could sit in one spot and never see the same bull twiceThe government starved out, killed or civilized all the IndiansI reckon they ain’t that much worth living for anymore

Me and Charlie Mendez going into town tonightAnd get us a bottle of tequila and get drunkThey make us hitch our horses off of Main StreetProper modern folks don’t want to step in horse shitSome kid said, “Hey, mister, where’s your horse?

I said, he got old and died but I’ve got a mountIt ain’t Mister Ford’s model T but it’ll do“Say”, he says, “Are you a REAL cowboy?”No sir, no sir I ain’t but my daddy wasAnd I gave him a dollar to water Charlie’s ponies

Is love but a beautiful dream dreamt by beautiful souls;Seeming to fade like dreams from grasp as ever they grow old?The kernel of love is growing; leaving only a husk behind.Eternal souls reach; knowing, though love has been called blind

More than ideal or beautiful dream is this thing which fools entice.Love is not tempted by foolish schemes and beggars in paradise.Though mountains crumble and seas boil; love remains steadfastPain and worry; lust and toil with life fade but love will last

Death and time hold court convicting mortal flesh and bone;Accusing wiry fingers lifting; love still sits upon its throneThose who come to value earthly pleasures find death terseWait on heavenly treasures knowing that love rules the universe

If one has no hope or faith and declares no one can know itLove smiles and sheds amazing grace on prophets and on poetsThe prophets prophesy in part and every poet writes his verseThe muse that stirs the caldron heart knows love rules the universe

Sunday, May 2, 2010

I’m the dying of the day; the restless, churning nightI’m the dark in shades of grey; mingling with the lightI’m a thing of mystery; well hidden from your sightI blind men so they might see; their vision was too bright

I’m the color of morose; the funeral Sunday suitI lift my glass and give a toast from Eve’s forbidden fruitThe knowledge of good and evil; within my cup bereftI make the bravest soldier tremble. I’m the horse of death.

I’m not the black of equity who balances out the truthI’m not blind justice weighing in the sins of wayward youthI’m the pale and sickly steed that tortures you in dreamsIn my orchard; trees of need I water with your screams

I’m the painter of deception; author of confusionI’m your mental predilection; all your life’s illusionI’m temptation on the vine; I depose from thronesNoble kings like Solomon; I guard my post alone

I laugh at fallen angels where beneath my hooves are trodEven hopes of demons with their burning prayers to GodHell is not my stable; though I have pulled its hearseMy form is fairly able to transmute the universe

I count starvation in my ribs while wars I’m giving birthI smother nations in their cribs and poison all the earthYour horrors, goblins, witches, warlocks; none compare to meIn pride they call me “ally” but I am more their destiny

Satan seeks my council; by my hand the goat was madeWhen he would have repented; I schooled him in his tradeI shake the world above me from its fiery burnt foundationI reward all who love me with death and consternation

I split the heavens asunder and rain both fire and hailI stoke the furnace of the sun and light the stars as wellRiches of gold and silver; diamonds, emeralds, pearlsI pull from my pockets; shiny trinkets for the world

I need not reveal my name but many have called me HungerGreed, Lust and Treachery among my names are numberedI am the unmaking which makes the shadow cosmos turnI am Desire that feeds the fires of heaven so they burn

Monday, April 19, 2010

Restless wandering specter stalking slow about the roomThe ghost of Dylan Thomas round the old White Horse SaloonSearching for a whisky glass, an ashtray or a broomto sweep up broken bits of April scattered round in June

How the smoky blues fulfill the places where we yearnThe empty, sad and fractured spaces longing to returnCan we place a sweet embrace like ash into an urn?Or trust youth’s fiery passion once the memory is burned?

Sweat on asphalt steaming, people screaming for more room For souls to grow and fools to know the meaning in the moonAnd not the words of two young lovers singing different tunesWhen laughter born just yesterday fades away too soon

Are the craters simply Braille for angels who are blindWandering round the galaxy not knowing what they’ll find?Or maybe they are roadmaps to a place we’re coming soonwhile searching for a whisky glass, an ashtray or a broom

Pour the empty, dusty glass all full with shades of blueKick the broken, lonely pieces of April round the roomSweep the floors and lock the doors and light a cigaretteLiquor, darkness and sad music mix well with regret

All the simple answers to hard questions I have learnedAre simply foolish notions foolish people have discernedThe truth is settled to the complex corners of this roomSearching for a whisky glass, an ashtray or a broom

Sunday, April 18, 2010

I rang the bells of freedom from the highest hills for all to hearBut they only tinkled like silver chimes inside the shell of her earI swung the hammer of justice pounding the gavel like thundering ThorShe tilted her head and said, “Did you hear that? Is someone at the door?”

I whetted my glittering sword; flashed yellow lightning across the skyShe yawned at me as if she were bored and closed her sapphire eyesI brought the beauty of Eden, untouched, and killed the serpent there“Do you think these shoes with this dress are too much?” She asked as she curled her hair.

I poured out my heart like burgundy wine and begged her take the cupShe never touched the fruit of the vine, not even so much as a supI bought her gold and diamonds, enough to fill her jewelry boxShe said, "I’ll never understand why men can’t match their socks."

And so I sat frustrated then, head in hands; staring at my feetShe said, “You should have made dinner plans, you used to be so sweet.”And then I cursed her vanity till angels plugged their ears above.What women want, a man can’t be and damn this thing called love!

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

The orange ball of the sun burned into the shadowy mountain mist.The fog surrounding dark pinnacles shifted uneasily.I have seen fires on distant waves wax and wane thus.It is the glow of charcoal embers seeking breath to catch flame.My mind wanders and remembers; a tiny infant’s grasp around my finger,a little puppy snuggled against my cheek on the pillow,the broken sadness in my father’s hazel eyes.I see the face of my best friend. I feel his hand upon my shoulder.But, now, how many years has it been?He is gone and I am slowly growing older.At noon, the day is clear and bright but I am full of dreams.Far away beaches with swaying palms and snow white sands beckon me.Shimmering trout are jumping in the swift current of cold clear streams.I am carried far away on the wings of thoughts and memories.The pain of lost love is like an arrow through my heart.It is a shifting glacier of ice drifting cold to the pit of my stomach.I feel the burden of sin on the back of the wretched creature I have been.It is like the addict’s monkey, a slave to death and destruction.There was something I wanted to say and pull the cork from the bottomof my overflowing heart to let it spill out in ink on an empty page.There was advice to my daughter; there were prayers to God,There were things unsaid like the love between two men who were brothers.There was healing and pain, hate and love, joy and suffering, patience and anger.But it all lay behind a blanket of mist like the diffused disk of this morning.I wanted to see things clearly as the rainbow fish living in his liquid dream.But my eyes were blurred. My smile was grim. I wanted to laugh and cry.I wanted to say things from my heart no mortal ear has ever heard.I wanted to reach up from the well of my soul and pour the cup of music full.The salty taste of my own tears tells me I am but a fool.Only a fool or poet would dare to try when... all I have are words.